Rifling through his mental ledgers, Finch thought through his options. He always managed to live well within his limited income, but was it enough to pay for his London rooms? There was little point in doing the arithmetic once more, for Finch knew it was only possible if he could retrench to cheaper lodgings, but the family could not countenance a son of theirs living anywhere less exalted. No matter that he could not afford it.
Likely, they preferred him to live off credit; collecting crushing amounts of debts was entirely acceptable as long as society did not discover it. Snatching a purse from a fellow on the street was deemed theft, but refusing to pay your grocer or tailor bills was gentlemanly.
“…Surely, you understand that we must do what is best for the family, Jack.”
There was only one response in such a moment, for the youngest son had no right to give any other. And so, Finch parroted the words he’d spoken so many times, “Anything for the family.”
“Good lad,” replied Father with a faint smile, his lips trembling as though that movement required some effort. “I understand you are traveling to Essex this afternoon.”
“My coach leaves within the hour. I always spend a few weeks at Simon Kingsley’s estate before the Season begins.”
And that was another issue all its own. Not a quarter of an hour ago Finch’s most pressing concern had been his impending visit to Avebury Park. However, thoughts of Simon’s ill-advised rush into a marriage of convenience and the mess Finch would likely find in the Kingsley estate had been unseated by Father’s newest edict.
“Are you taking the public coach to Brighton?”
Finch nodded. “And then on to London and Essex.”
“The coaches between here and Brighton are shoddy and uncomfortable. I cannot spare the family carriage for the entire journey, but if you speak to Rodgers, you can use it for that first leg,” said Father with a smile as though his proffered crumb was a bounteous feast.
“My thanks, Father.” Finch rose to his feet and bowed, leaving the study before the fellow had time to bask in his beneficence.
“Good travels, my dear Jack,” he called, making Finch’s cravat tighten about his neck.
Striding through the empty halls, Finch forced thoughts of his father from his mind and focused on the far more pressing matter. With more economies, he might afford the steep rent, though Finch despised the thought of expending such funds on extravagant rooms that only served as a symbol of his family’s status.
Yes, Lewis Finch was a pauper compared to most of society, but he was a gentleman of leisure with the proper address befitting his illustrious family. Regardless of the fact that they held few connections of note and their wealth was not enough to grasp society’s attention. Upper crust they may be, but not enough for those lofty standards.
A pain made itself known behind Finch’s left eye, and he took in a breath. He would survive. He would. Economy and prudence were old friends of his, and he had ample savings to keep his situation from veering into dire straits in the interim. Yet he doubted he could continue balancing his family’s demands and his pocketbook’s. How much longer until his father required something that landed him in debtor’s prison? Would his family claim their connection then?
Not a sound announced his assailants before they launched themselves at Finch, coming at him with a coordinated attack that did credit to the finest soldiers he’d known. One latched onto his leg, bringing Finch to a halt, and when he bent over to look at the mass of golden curls, the other used an obliging ledge to leap upon his back, her arms wrapped around his neck.
“Uncle Lewis!” Though he could not see which of his rascally nieces clung to his back, that distinct cadence belonged solely to the youngest of his brother’s daughters.
“Are you causing mischief, Ginny?” asked Finch, shifting the child’s hold so she did not strangle him.
“Don’t be silly,” she laughed, parroting a phrase that was so often applied to her.
Leaning forward, Finch looked at the leech wrapped around his shin. Barbara looked up at him with the angelic features she shared with her twin, though there was far more truth to the sweetness and innocence in Barbara’s case than Ginny’s.
“Mama said you were leaving today,” said Barbara, loosening her grip enough to meet her uncle’s smile.
Finch lifted his foot, giving its passenger a great swing forward. Barbara squealed and